


Aftermath

by Scrawlers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Papa Sycamore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: In the wake of the Flare crisis, Alan struggles to heal both physically and psychologically. But no matter how difficult the process is or how long it takes, Augustine is determined to be there for and help him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written (as with so many others) before the Flare arc crisis included, and thus there are certain things (such as Alan's injuries, and the conclusion to the final battle) that won't quite align with canon, thus making this a mild canon divergence. Nonetheless, the psychological/emotional traumas still hold, and I like to imagine that this conversation/these events take place post-canon regardless, despite the small parts regarding Alan's physical injuries that canon jossed.
> 
> As has been mentioned in a few other works, I headcanon that Professor Sycamore's garchomp is nicknamed Gabrielle, and Alan's charizard is nicknamed Lizardon (and has been since he was a charmander).

Alan was released from the hospital one week after the Team Flare crisis was resolved. He had (miraculously) managed to avoid needing surgery, but with a labral tear in his left (briefly dislocated) shoulder, four broken ribs, and a broken kneecap, most of him was still covered in a bandage, brace, or cast of some kind. In truth, the doctor had told Augustine, it would be best if Alan were confined to the hospital for the duration of the six to eight weeks it would take him to fully recover, “because if the several-months old labral tear in his shoulder is anything to go by, he doesn’t know the meaning of rest and is likely to hurt himself worse, and then he _will_ need surgery.” But at fifteen Alan was old enough to sign himself out of the hospital even against medical advice, and so there was nothing they could to do stop him. In Augustine’s opinion, it was a wonder they had managed to talk him into a week-long compromise.

But the condition he was in, combined with the fact that Lizardon’s wing was still broken and healing, meant that he wasn’t going to go very far even if he signed himself out of the hospital. The issue of where Alan would stay while he recovered was never in question, as far as Augustine was concerned; Augustine had missed him terribly during the years he had been gone, was still thankful to any legendary he could think to name that both Alan and Lizardon had survived their crash landing, and had both listed himself as Alan’s emergency contact and had provided his home address and phone number under the _Patient Information_ section of Alan’s hospital admittance papers without really thinking about it when Alan ( _bloody and broken and unconscious_ ) was first brought into the emergency room. Even when Alan expressed anxiety over staying at Augustine’s his first night out of the hospital (feeling, he said, that Augustine’s reputation could be damaged by having Alan around, as if Augustine gave a damn about his reputation in comparison to someone he saw as his son), Augustine assured him that it didn’t matter. This was Alan’s home. It would _always_ be Alan’s home. Nothing could ever change that.

So with the matter of where Alan would stay for the remainder of his recuperation settled, Augustine figured that it was probably all right that Alan checked himself out of the hospital several weeks early. After all, it wasn’t like Alan checked himself out of the hospital only to wander off into the world again. He was staying with Augustine. Augustine could make sure that Alan got the rest he needed to fully heal on schedule.

Of course, he should have figured that this would be easier said than done.

Alan—despite that he could hardly walk because of his broken kneecap, and the difficulty he had using his left arm due to the labral tear in his shoulder, and the pain he felt when _breathing_ due to his broken ribs—insisted on trying to help around the lab. For the most part, Augustine was able to content him by giving him small tasks that weren’t too taxing on him physically. He could take notes, he could look over test results on the computer, and he could organize files around the lab that Sophie hadn’t yet had time to get to. All of these tasks were fine so long as Alan still remembered to take breaks. But Alan seemed determined to do more than the small clerical tasks he was given (particularly given the speed at which he completed them), and by the end of the first week after his release Augustine walked out into the yard to see Alan poised by a wheelbarrow filled with special soil for the grass-types, clearly trying to figure out a way to he could push it across the yard despite having injured half his limbs.

“Alan,” Augustine said, and Alan gave a guilty start as Augustine started across the yard toward him, though he didn’t move away from the wheelbarrow. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Alan said, and Augustine bit back a sigh. He couldn’t count the number of times Alan had said that since first waking in the hospital. “I’m taking this out to the grass-types. The oddish are restless—they need it.”

“Sophie, Cosette or I can handle that,” Augustine said firmly. “You need rest. You’re not supposed to be pushing yourself.”

“I’m not. I’m fine,” Alan insisted, and he gripped the wheelbarrow with both hands again, though he made no move to push it forward. “I took more medicine just a little bit ago.”

“That medicine alleviates your pain and reduces swelling, but it won’t actually mend your bones. You still need to allow yourself time to rest and heal,” Augustine said. Alan clenched his jaw, glaring at the wheelbarrow, and said nothing. “Do you want to make your injuries worse and spend even longer in recovery?”

“What I want,” Alan spat bitterly, “is to be of _use_ and not _worthless_.” He shoved the wheelbarrow forward, and the extra reliance he placed on his right arm caused it to turn a little crookedly in the grass. Alan continued to glare at it, his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Augustine, on the other hand, cared very little for the state of the wheelbarrow. “Alan, you’re not _worthless_ —”

Alan winced, looking guilty again for just a moment before he shut his eyes and turned back to Augustine with a small bow.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His tone was even now, but there was a measure of tension there that made it clear (to Augustine at least) that it wasn’t natural. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. That was out of line.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Augustine said. “I just—”

“I know,” Alan interrupted, but Augustine wasn’t sure that he did, and Alan gritted his teeth together and cast his eyes to the grass again in the same beat, as if he regretted interrupting. But before Augustine had a chance to say much else, Alan said, “I’ll just go . . . sit with Lizardon a while. Excuse me.”

Alan turned and started across the grass, where Lizardon was indeed seated off to the side of the yard, having watched the entire scene. Part of Augustine wanted to call him back—to continue their conversation, to insist to Alan that he wasn’t _worthless_ just because he couldn’t help out more around the lab, to remind him that it was all right to express how he felt, that he didn’t have to apologize for snapping or pushing a wheelbarrow a bit roughly (especially when, at present, one of the larvitar probably could have pushed it with more strength than Alan himself had). But even with all of those thoughts bouncing through his mind and scattered across his tongue, Augustine wasn’t sure which one to start with, or how to phrase any of it so that Alan would truly understand. So he watched until Alan reached Lizardon and lowered himself onto the grass beside his dragon. He lingered just enough to see Lizardon duck his head and Alan say something too quiet for anyone _but_ Lizardon to hear, and then turned to head back into the lab.

**\- - -**

Two days later, Augustine sat with Meyer at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking as the kids played out in the yard. Clemont and Bonnie had found a strong, sturdy rope, in the center of which they had tied a flag. With Bonnie and Manon on one side, and Clemont (with the assistance of his Aipom Arm) on the other, the three of them played tug-of-war while Alan sat on the grass nearby so he could referee. Meyer and Augustine could see their progress through the glass panes in the door, and Augustine watched for a bit as Manon, Bonnie, and Clemont struggled with the rope, Alan leaning back against Lizardon’s stomach.

“How’s he doing?” Meyer asked, and Augustine didn’t need for him to clarify whom he meant. Augustine sighed and looked back at his coffee, wrapping his hands entirely around the mug, his fingers laced together. The warmth was nice.

“His ribs seem to be healing fine,” Augustine said. “It’s a little easier for him to walk each day, I think—or at least it’s getting easier for him to fake it. His shoulder seems to be doing the best. Now that he’s not pushing it, the tear might finally heal the way it should have months ago.”

“And everything else?”

Augustine frowned down at his coffee, squeezing the ceramic between his hands, swallowing as he tried to find the words. Finally, he said quietly, “He’s doing worse than I feared.” An unhappy laugh escaped him, unbidden, and he pulled one hand away from his coffee mug to comb it through his hair instead. “Not that I feared it at all. I didn’t even think—”

“I don’t think you could have—”

“I knew he was depressed,” Augustine said, and he sat forward again as Meyer allowed him to continue. “I could see that for myself at the League. But I thought—I hoped that once he was away from Team Flare—away from _Lysandre_ —that he would be all right. I thought that once he came home, he would be all right.” Augustine looked down at his coffee again. “But he isn’t.”

“Well, give him time,” Meyer said bracingly. “It’s only been a week and a little extra. He just needs some time to readjust.”

“Does he?” Augustine looked up again, but when he saw Meyer giving him an uncertain frown, tore his eyes away. “I want to believe that. I do. When I first brought him home all those years ago . . . but this is different than it was then. It’s a different situation. I thought it would be the same, and in some ways it is very similar, but he was so _little_ then. He was so young. There was still enough time to—he was still young enough to not completely understand or believe everything that had happened or had been said to him before I found him. But he’s older now. He understands it, he believes it. And I’m not sure he believes me. I’m not sure _what_ he believes, or thinks, or feels because he won’t talk about any of it to anyone who isn’t Lizardon.”

“But the silent treatment’s not that new, is it?” Meyer asked. “He was always quiet back when you first took him in. I didn’t even know he knew _how_ to talk at first.”

“This is different,” Augustine said again. “Back then silence was his default because he was still afraid of people because of—well, everything he had known up until that point. But he grew past it, he opened up. He learned he didn’t have to be afraid, that he could just be himself. You know that—you remember it. He didn’t leave here until he was twelve.”

Meyer nodded. “And now?”

“Now . . .” Augustine scrubbed a hand down his face. “Most of the time he tries to act as if nothing’s wrong. He does whatever tasks I ask him to take care of around the lab. He spends time with Manon, and I get the feeling he likes that she does ninety percent of the talking.” Augustine shared a fleeting smile with Meyer. “He, Lizardon, and Gabrielle have helped his other pokémon become acquainted with the others here at the lab. He doesn’t shy away from conversation so long as it’s light and harmless. He’ll answer questions asked of him and respond in a conversation when he feels it’s his turn, so to speak, to participate.

“But . . . he’s been pushing himself—he keeps pushing himself to do more around the lab, and becomes frustrated and angry when he can’t. And that would be fine, except that aside from the occasional mistreated wheelbarrow he turns that anger in on himself. He bottles it, and when he isn’t bottling it he’s calling himself worthless or barely touching meals if he doesn’t skip them entirely. He seems to have a complex about being useful—seems to believe that he has to prove his worth, and that if he doesn’t then he doesn’t deserve to be here. I’ve tried to explain to him that this isn’t the case, that all I want is for him to rest and heal, but I can’t tell if my words have any effect because he completely shuts down every time the subject comes up. It’s as if he’s afraid of upsetting me, and as much as I want to assure him that he doesn’t have to worry about _that_ either, I can’t even be entirely sure that’s the case because, again, he won’t actually say as much, and he isn’t as easy to read now as he was when he was five. I don’t . . .” Augustine squeezed his coffee cup again, hard enough that his knuckles paled, and said softly, “I don’t want to push him, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to help him. I’m worried that I no longer know how.”

“That’s not true. You can. You will.” Meyer reached across the table and took one of Augustine’s hands in his own, gently stroking his thumb along the side of Augustine’s hand. When Augustine looked back at him, he smiled. “You love that kid, and that’s all that matters. That’s all it takes. Just love ‘im. Be there for him. Give him time, and he’ll see that and open up and respond. I’m sure of it.”

Despite his own fears, Augustine smiled back, and gave Meyer’s hand a small squeeze. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am. Count on it.” Meyer’s smile shifted to more of a lopsided grin. “And in the meanwhile, maybe you can have your garchomp talk to his charizard for you, and then she can tell you what’s what and give you a better idea of how to handle things moving forward.”

Augustine snorted. “You would have a better chance of teaching an emboar Fly than you would convincing Lizardon to betray Alan’s confidence. He’s very fond of Gabrielle, but I can promise you that he wouldn’t give away Alan’s secrets even for her.”

Meyer opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by sudden, angry shouting from out in the yard. Both of them turned toward the door to see that the rope had been ripped in half and was lying in tatters in the grass while Bonnie and Clemont yelled at each other. As one, Meyer and Augustine rose from the table, and Meyer reached the doors first.

“Whoa, whoa, what is going on out here?” he asked, and Bonnie whipped around to face him, both of her hands balled into tiny fists, the fury of a thousand spearow in her eyes.

“Clemont cheated and ripped the rope!” she shouted.

“I did not!” Clemont said indignantly. “It was an accident, and we were both tugging on it—”

“That’s true,” Manon said, laughing awkwardly as she rubbed at the back of her neck. “We were all pulling super hard—”

“Don’t take his side!” Bonnie cried, and Manon quickly closed her mouth as Bonnie turned back toward Meyer. “Clemont had his Aipom Arm use too much power and it ripped the rope in half! He was mad he wasn’t winning!”

“I _was_ winning before the rope snapped,” Clemont said. “The flag was closer on my side—”

“Was not!”

“Yes it was!

“It _wasn’t_!”

“It _was_!”

“All right, all right, take it easy!” Meyer said loudly, and he raised his hands in a placating gesture as both of his children escalated the volume of their shouting (Manon wisely gathering her chespin in her arms before backing away from the argument). Augustine, meanwhile, looked to Alan, who was staring at ruined rope with a frown, his brow furrowed. But as Augustine watched him, he realized that Alan wasn’t really looking at the _rope_ ; instead, his eyes were unfocused, his stare distant, oblivious to the chaos unfolding right in front of him for how lost he was in his own head.

Augustine sighed to himself, and looked up at the sky. He could only hope Meyer was right.

**\- - -**

The sky at 5:15 AM on the following Saturday was light periwinkle, and the air was fresh, crisp, and cool. Augustine didn’t think he could have asked for a more pleasant morning to have a talk with Alan.

The talk wasn’t something they had mutually planned for. In Augustine’s own defense, even he hadn’t put too much prior planning into it. But over the past week, Alan didn’t seem to be improving. He didn’t seem to be faring any worse, which Augustine was grateful for, but he was still prone to shutting down or punishing himself however he could whenever he grew upset. Augustine knew that he needed time to heal, and that Meyer was right when he pointed out that not much time had passed since Alan had come home from the hospital. But Augustine didn’t feel that he could leave Alan to his own devices in good conscience—that he could sit there and watch for much longer as Alan spiraled into feelings of worthlessness and self-harm. He certainly didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate feeling useless himself, especially given the way Alan apologized and avoided eye contact whenever he believed he had upset Augustine somehow.

So by the time they reached the weekend, Augustine decided that—in lieu of any other ideas for how to handle the situation beyond waiting it out and letting it either get worse or stagnant—it was time for them to have a talk. While he didn’t know precisely what he was going to say or how he was going to approach the subject, he did know that he didn’t want to have the conversation in the heat of the moment (when Alan was already upset), nor did he want to have it in the middle of the day when they could be overheard or interrupted. (And pulling Alan aside wouldn’t work, either; if anyone else was around then such a thing would surely catch their attention, and it would no doubt make Alan feel self-conscious and on-edge, which was the last thing Augustine wanted.) That being the case, Saturday morning at the edge of dawn seemed like the best time by Augustine’s estimation.

Ever since Alan had come home from the hospital, he had been slipping out of his room each night to go sit outside with Lizardon. Augustine hadn’t noticed the first couple of nights; Alan moved through the house with stealth that would make his weavile envious (particularly considering his injured leg), his prior knowledge of exactly which stairs creaked and which floorboards to avoid no doubt aiding him in keeping silent. But on the third night (fourth morning?) after Alan came home, Augustine awoke by chance in the middle of the night and happened to take a look out of his bedroom window after retrieving a glass of water from the bathroom, and that was when he saw him.

Augustine’s bedroom window overlooked the yard, and given that it was on the second floor he could see pretty far back into the trees. Nestled near the back of the property was a cove—a little cluster of trees that formed in a half-circle, complete with a large boulder positioned to one side. It was hard to see from ground level, which afforded it a measure of privacy, and Alan had favored it whenever he needed time to himself ever since he was a child. That night, Augustine could see that Alan and Lizardon had returned to it. Alan had been perched up on the boulder, and while it was too dark and the distance was too great for Augustine to see him clearly, the way Lizardon had his head inclined toward Alan led Augustine to think the two were talking. That had given him a measure of comfort; at least Alan could talk with Lizardon, even if he couldn’t talk to anyone else. Augustine had remained awake for the next several hours, until he heard the back door open as Alan slipped back inside. By that point the first rays of dawn light had broken out over the sky to filter in through Augustine’s window, and as Alan had crept back up the stairs to his room, Augustine hoped that Alan had at least managed to grab a couple hours of sleep.

Every night after that, Augustine remained awake just long enough to listen for when Alan went out to the yard, a feat given away now that Augustine knew what to listen for. Each night Alan slipped out after Augustine and Manon had gone to sleep, and each morning Augustine awoke briefly when he heard the back door downstairs open again. Alan was out all night every night, and not only did Augustine not mind, but in a way he was grateful. The help that Lizardon was no doubt doing his best to provide for Alan aside, Alan’s nightly excursions (and his return each dawn before the rest of them awoke, or so he thought) afforded Augustine an opportunity.

So that Friday, after Alan had “gone to bed,” Augustine retrieved a small glass patio table from storage and moved it out to the yard, just outside the back door, pairing it with two of the chairs that completed the set. And the next morning, while Alan was still out with Lizardon (albeit hidden from view by Lizardon’s good wing), Augustine prepared coffee in the small, stainless steel press he typically used when working late nights, and took that (along with two mugs and some sugar) out to patio table to wait.

He didn’t have to wait very long.

From his seat at the table, Augustine couldn’t see Alan and Lizardon’s cove, but as the early light of dawn cast a soft glow over the yard, Alan emerged from the trees. Even from a distance, he looked somewhat worse for the wear; the t-shirt and sweatpants he had changed into when the day was through were both rumpled, and his hair was noticeably messier than normal. He didn’t notice Augustine at first as he walked across the yard, particularly with the way he had his eyes trained at the ground even as he rubbed at one of them, but he looked up as he neared the house and froze when he laid eyes on Augustine seated at the table. The look on his face suggested he might not have even noticed that the table was there before.

Augustine smiled gently in response.

“I thought I would have some coffee outside today, since the weather’s nice,” he said, and he gestured to the coffee tray with one hand. “Care to join me?”

Alan hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked at the coffee set-up on the table. But after a moment of deliberation he slowly walked over to the table and took a seat opposite Augustine, and Augustine tried not to let the relief he felt show on his face.

“Thank you,” Alan mumbled, as he picked up his mug and leaned over to pour some coffee from the press.

Augustine shook his head, still smiling. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to have you join me.”

Alan’s eyes darted back to him for a second, sharp if a bit startled, but he looked away again quickly enough and offered no comment as he prepared his coffee. Augustine watched him quietly, and bit back a chuckle when Alan reached not for two, and not for three, but for _four_ cubes of sugar to stir into his cup. He still had his sweet tooth, it seemed.

They were quiet for a time as Alan prepared his coffee and then took a few sips. Up close like this, it was easier for Augustine to observe him; whether Alan had actually slept out in the grass with Lizardon was debatable (and it didn’t look like he had any grass stuck in his hair, at least), but his complexion was wan and his eyes were rimmed red and a little puffy. That could have been a symptom of insomnia, too, but Augustine thought it looked more like he had been crying. That made sense, Augustine thought. If there was anyone that Alan was likely to let himself cry around, it was Lizardon. Thank Xerneas for Lizardon.

But observing Alan in silence wouldn’t get them anywhere. They needed to talk, and while Augustine was still not the best at conversations like this, he knew the best way to get started was to simply _start_. He took one more drink of his coffee as a final buffer before he set the cup on the table and decided to dive straight in.

“So,” he said, and Alan looked quickly up at him, “I actually came out here this morning because I was hoping to talk to you. I know you’ve been spending most nights out here, and—”

“I’m sorry.”

“—I—what?” Augustine blinked, but Alan wasn’t looking at him. He was staring down at his coffee instead, gripping it tightly between his fingers, his eyebrows knitted together. When he offered no further clarification, Augustine asked, “Pardon?”

“I—” Alan took a breath, and then said in a carefully measured voice, “I know I shouldn’t have been sneaking out. I’m supposed to be—I have a room. I should use it. I’m sorry for betraying your trust.”

“You haven’t betrayed my trust,” Augustine said, and he tried not to sound as bewildered as he felt. They had hardly made it two sentences in before he felt as if the earth had been tugged out from beneath his feet, and even after trying to offer reassurance, Alan still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t mind that you’ve come out here to spend the nights with Lizardon—really, I don’t. If that’s what it takes to make you comfortable—if you need to spend your nights with him to feel better—then by all means, I want you to. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’ve been sneaking out without permission,” Alan said, so quietly his voice was almost inaudible.

Augustine shook his head. “This is your home, and he is your charizard. You don’t need permission to go out and see him, or go anywhere else you like. You don’t need permission to wander your own home, no matter the hour.” Augustine paused, and then offered a small smile. “Though I do ask that you knock first before entering one of the bathrooms or my bedroom, if the door is closed. But even then, so long as the occupant—myself or otherwise—tells you that it’s fine, it’s fine. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Alan didn’t react at all to his words, either to look up, nod, or even argue, and so Augustine added in a more serious tone, “I mean it, Alan. You’re free to go wherever you like here, and you don’t have to apologize for it. You don’t have to feel as though you’re sneaking around, either. You aren’t in trouble and I’m not upset with you.”

Alan remained silent, staring down at his coffee, but his expression had shifted. Whereas before he had fixed the drink with a determined stare, as if he had held it just as accountable for his actions as he held himself, now his eyes were distant, his expression melancholic as he rubbed his index fingers slowly against the ceramic. Augustine was about to change the subject—or rather, about to get to the subject he had actually meant to talk about, even if he felt a bit frustrated with himself for being unable to convince Alan that it was fine for him to wander their home and lab as he pleased—when Alan finally spoke, his voice still so low it was almost like he was talking to himself.

“There were certain wings in Fleur-De-Lis that were off-limits. An entire side of the facility. I wasn’t allowed to go there. I tried to ask what they did down there, but . . .” His brow furrowed, and his fingers constricted around his mug.

Augustine felt his heart miss a beat in his chest, and he asked cautiously, “Did Lysandre grow angry with you?”

“No. Not . . . _angry_ ,” Alan said. He scratched his fingernail gently across the ceramic—not enough to make a sound, but a slow, steady, rhythmic movement. “More . . . displeased. I asked, when we passed that wing again, what they did down there. He said it didn’t concern me. But I wanted to know, so I asked if it had to do with what I was going to be gathering mega evolution energy for. He said that it wasn’t for me to know the finer details of what was done with the energy I gathered. ‘It is the scientists’ job to further our research and conduct the necessary experiments for our purposes. It is your job to gather the mega evolutionary energy so they can do so. That is all you need to know,’ he said.”

Augustine squeezed his own mug, channeling the flash of anger he felt into the ceramic instead. Alan had only asked a question. He was inquisitive and bright, always had been, and for Lysandre to shut that down—

“But I still wanted to know, so I asked if I could just see what they were doing. I wanted to know more about mega evolution, too, and I thought I could learn if I saw what the scientists were working on. So I took a step closer to the door.” Alan swallowed. “The direct—Lysandre didn’t like . . . he took that as a challenge. He thought I was challenging him. So he said that, since I was, then we could battle for it. If I won, he would answer my questions and I could see that part of the lab. If I lost, then I would do as I was told.”

“So you battled him?”

“I didn’t want to,” Alan said, his voice so soft now it was barely above a whisper. His fingers were pale around his cup. “I tried to say no, but he . . . wasn’t _asking_. He took me to the arena and we battled. His pyroar against Lizardon. Lizardon was still a charmeleon at the time.”

Augustine took a moment to collect himself before he asked quietly, “How badly was Lizardon hurt?”

Alan said nothing for a long moment, but chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally, in a throaty voice, he said, “It wasn’t much of a fight.”

Augustine couldn’t imagine that it would have been, given the relative difference in strength between a pyroar and a charmeleon, but the idea was still enough to make his stomach churn with second-hand fury, even accounting for what he now felt he knew. He had wondered more than once whether Lysandre had ever hit Alan—whether, on top of all the other mistreatment that Augustine suspected had taken place, physical violence had been thrown into the mix as well. If it had been, Augustine was now sure that it was minimal. Physical abuse would be harder to explain away, even when the victim was a child, and the circumstances being what they were, Augustine was sure that Lysandre would have felt no need to hit _Alan_ when _Lizardon_ was right there. He would achieve the same end result either way, and no one could raise an eyebrow at or complain about a pokémon battle. It was the perfect cover, and even if he was only finding out about it now, years after the fact, Augustine still felt a powerful urge to give Gabrielle more than a few rounds with Lysandre’s pyroar.

“Did that happen often?” Augustine asked finally.

Alan shook his head. “No. I tried not to give him a reason.”

“You never gave him a reason to begin with,” Augustine said, his voice a little sharper than he intended. It wasn’t Alan that he was upset with, after all. But Alan didn’t seem bothered by his tone, thankfully; he merely shrugged and took another drink of his coffee.

Silence fell between them again. Alan, Augustine felt, probably needed time to gather his thoughts, and for what it was worth, Augustine needed time to gather his. Whatever way he had planned on approaching the conversation before had been cleared away like dust off a countertop by the conversation they had just had. He knew what he wanted—what he _needed_ to say, but finding the right order to fit the words in was never his specialty. Augustine was reminded powerfully of the night he had spoken to Alan prior to the League. He had been locked in a stranglehold by his own awkward loss for words then, too.

But he had to say _something_ , and so after he took another sip of his own coffee to stall for a few more seconds, he tried again.

“Alan, you . . . know I would never do anything like that to you and Lizardon, don’t you?”

“What?” Alan looked up at him in alarm. “Of course. I never thought—why are you asking that?”

“Over the past couple of weeks—ever since you came home, I’ve felt like you’re afraid of upsetting me,” Augustine said. Comprehension dawned in Alan’s eyes, and he looked down at his coffee again. “You’re quick to apologize, often for things that aren’t mistakes or transgressions. And when I do try to talk to you about something, you apologize for speaking your mind before you concede the topic and back off. I understand if you need time for yourself, or if it’s hard for you to talk right now . . . but I don’t want you to be afraid of me, or to feel like you have to hold back or bottle things up for fear of upsetting me. You’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you or Lizardon no matter—”

“No! I—that’s not . . . !” Alan pulled his hands away his coffee mug so that he could scrub them up his face, and he held them there for a moment before he pulled them away, releasing a slow exhale. “That’s not . . . I know you’d never hurt us. I know that. That’s not the problem.”

Hope flared to life in Augustine’s chest. Alan had admitted that there was a problem, and that was progress. For the first time in two weeks, they had real _progress_. “Then what is?” Alan was silent, staring down at his coffee as he chewed the inside of his cheek, and Augustine waited a few beats before he said gently, “Alan, I want to help. So if there is a problem—if anything is wrong, please, tell me. Tell me so I can help share whatever burden you’re shouldering.”

“That’s the problem,” Alan said softly.

Augustine frowned, confused. “Pardon?”

“I—” Alan took a deep breath—a noticeable wince crossing his face when he did so—and crossed his good arm over his stomach. “I shouldn’t be here to begin with. So many people already know that I worked for Team Flare. If word spread any farther and more people knew . . . if they knew that, and saw that you were letting me stay here, then that could ruin your reputation. You could lose your funding—the whole lab.”

“I already told you that I don’t care about that,” Augustine said firmly. “Even if that happened—and I highly doubt that it will—we’d find another way to keep going. That doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know,” Alan said. “But it’s still a risk. You’re still taking a risk by letting me stay here.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. And to make matters worse, it isn’t even a risk that’s paying off for you. I can’t do . . . anything, really. Nothing beyond paperwork that could be easily completed by you, or Sophie, or Cosette. I’m too weak to do much of anything else. For the past two weeks all I’ve been doing is taking up space and creating more problems.”

“You haven’t—”

“So between that and the danger I pose by being here, I think I’ve been enough of a burden already. I don’t need to make it worse by upsetting you if I can avoid it.” Alan put his arms back on the table so that he could grab his coffee mug again, though he didn’t take a drink from it, instead running his thumbs along the rim. “Not that I have avoided it, if I led you to think this is your fault. I’m sorry.”

Augustine stared at Alan for a moment, appalled, before he finally said, “The only thing that’s upsetting to me is the fact that you feel this way. You’re not a burden, Alan. Far from it.”

Alan scoffed. “Right. An assistant who can’t actually assist isn’t a burden.”

“You’re more to me than just my assistant, but even if you weren’t, I still wouldn’t consider you a burden,” Augustine said. “You’re healing from severe injuries—injuries you sustained, I’ll remind you, by risking your life in order to defend this world.”

“After I assisted in its near destruction,” Alan muttered.

“Only when you didn’t have all the facts of the situation. When you did, you made the right choice,” Augustine said. Alan said nothing, and so Augustine continued. “Recovery is a gradual process. It takes a long time. It’s only natural that you’ll need time to recuperate after all you’ve been through. Needing time to heal doesn’t make you a burden, Alan. It makes you human.”

“Maybe,” Alan said after a moment, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not helping. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m useless—”

“It does, because you’re not,” Augustine said. “You are helping. It’s true that Sophie, Cosette, or myself could complete the paperwork you’ve been helping us with, but you doing it means that we don’t have to. As easy as it may be for you, that’s still work that you’re taking off our hands. That’s helpful, and I speak for Sophie and Cosette as well when I say that we appreciate it.”

Alan frowned dubiously at his coffee. “It still isn’t—”

“And even if you weren’t doing that—even if you weren’t helping us out with paperwork and file organization, I still wouldn’t consider you a burden, because you wouldn’t be one,” Augustine said. Alan looked up, and the look he fixed Augustine with was just as skeptical as the one he had given his coffee. Augustine stared solidly back. “You claim that I’m taking a risk that isn’t paying off because you aren’t able to help with the physical labor around the lab, but that isn’t true. Setting aside our disagreement over whether I’m taking a risk at all, having you here isn’t about any sort of payoff, Alan. And if there was any to be gained, then I already have it simply by having you here.”

“. . . But I’m not . . . doing anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Augustine said. “I enjoy your company. I like having you here. And it’s as I said to you before: This is your home. This will always _be_ your home. You don’t have to do anything to earn your place here any more than you have to do anything to earn my love. You already have both.”

Alan’s eyes widened, and even from across the table it was noticeable how his breath caught as he realized just what it was that Augustine had said. He stared at Augustine for a long moment, but just as Augustine saw what he thought were tears building in Alan’s eyes, Alan ducked his head and swallowed hard.

“I—thank you,” he said, his voice gruff. “I feel the same. I mean, I . . . I love you, too.”

Augustine smiled as he said, “I know.”

It felt as if much of the tension had relaxed between them. The sun was casting a golden glow over the yard now, the bird pokémon rustling around in the trees and the scatterbug hastily retreating under bushes, and Augustine took a moment to observe the awakening pokémon as he drank his coffee and Alan took a moment to compose himself.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Alan said finally, as Augustine watched a furret wriggle out of her burrow across the yard, several of her sentret children bounding excitedly around her. He looked away from the small family so that he could look back at Alan, but Alan had his eyes trained on the spoon next to his coffee cup as he toyed with it between his fingers. “After this, I mean. After I finish recuperating. I don’t really know what I should do.”

“What do you want to do?” Augustine asked.

Alan shrugged. “Steven thinks I should take the Champion challenge.”

That was news to Augustine. Although he and Steven Stone had spoken before Steven returned to Hoenn—and though they had even spoken about Alan insofar as his condition and how long it would likely take him to heal went—Steven hadn’t mentioned anything about the Champion challenge then. Augustine wondered why he had neglected to bring it up.

“Do you want to take the Champion challenge?” he asked.

Alan didn’t answer right away. He continued to toy with the spoon, his lips pressed into a thin line, before he said, “Lizardon and I have been discussing it.”

Augustine could truthfully say _that_ didn’t surprise him in the least bit.

They lapsed into thoughtful silence once more, Alan continuing to toy with the spoon while Augustine sipped at his coffee, before Alan asked, “Professor? Do you think I should take the challenge?”

Augustine set his coffee cup back on the table, and then said carefully, “If that’s what you want to do. I think you should do whatever you like—whatever will make you happiest.”

Alan frowned at him, and then said, “Okay, but do you think I would be a _good_ Champion? Be honest.”

Augustine studied Alan for a long moment, weighing his options. If he answered yes, that ran the risk of pushing Alan toward the Champion challenge—and, if he won, _position_ —whether he actually wanted it or not. Alan could make his own choices, and Augustine trusted him to do so, but Alan was clearly looking to him for guidance and advice. If Augustine encouraged him to go for the challenge, that would be two people (plus potentially a dragon) whose opinions Alan valued pushing him toward the Champion challenge. That could be enough to pressure him into going for it whether or not it was something that would actually make him happy, and Augustine didn’t want to do that.

On the other hand, Augustine had a feeling that Alan wasn’t so much asking after an opinion of his battle prowess as he was asking his opinion on other qualities. Their conversation that morning alone clued Augustine in on much of what Alan had been thinking for at least the past couple of weeks, if not months, if not _years_. If Augustine said no, there was a good chance that Alan would take it as confirmation of all the negative things he had been thinking about himself, and that was the last thing Augustine wanted.

There was no easy answer, no clear right or wrong, and Alan was gazing at him steadily as he waited for a response. Augustine took a final drink from his coffee and set it on the table before he answered, deciding to forego giving the “right” answer in favor of giving the honest one instead.

“You’re an incredibly skilled and gifted trainer,” he said slowly. “In recent years I’ve only seen you battle in the League, but your performance there was astounding. You’ve proven that you not only have a firm grasp on exactly what your pokémon can do, but that you’re adaptable and can shift your tactics in the heat of battle. Furthermore, you’ve proven that you understand your pokémon. Your bond with Lizardon goes without saying, but it’s clear that you’ve put time and care into raising the rest of your team as well. Your skill as a trainer goes without saying. So in that respect, yes, I do think you could serve Kalos well as her Champion.”

“In that respect,” Alan said. “So—”

“You’re brave,” Augustine continued, and Alan closed his mouth. “Incredibly brave. You risked your life to defend Kalos in her moment of need when you didn’t have to. You didn’t,” he said, and he held up one hand as Alan opened his mouth to interrupt. “I know you felt responsible, but that’s another point to your character. Not everyone would have, even given the circumstances. Some would have fled. You didn’t. You fought to protect not only Manon and myself, but everyone present—everyone in Kalos. You showed true valor in that battle, Alan. True courage and strength of will. That, too, makes you worthy of being Kalos’ Champion.

“You’re clever. You’re intelligent. When you don’t know the answer, you know to seek it. When you learned that Lysandre was behind the crisis in Lumiose, you went to him to get answers. And when you learned from his own mouth what it was that he planned to do, your instincts led you to fight back on behalf of the people. These qualities, too, make for a capable and respectable Champion.”

“So then, you think I—”

“And on top of all of that, you’re kind. Compassionate. You’ve shown patience with young pokémon and trainers alike. You never stop trying to improve yourself, and likewise, you encourage others to continue pushing forward as well. These qualities are also important for any Champion to possess.”

“So—”

“So, yes. In my admittedly not entirely impartial opinion, I do think that you would make a marvelous Champion,” Augustine said, and he couldn’t help but feel a smile tug at his lips at the way Alan's lips twitched, even as Alan looked down to try and hide it. “But I also think that you should only go for it if _you_ want to. What I think, what Steven thinks . . . even what Lizardon thinks is not as important as what _you_ think. What you think and feel matters, Alan, more than any of the rest of us. Only do what you’re comfortable with. Only pursue what you like. If you want to take the Champion challenge, then I will support you every step of the way. But if you opt not to take it, then I will fully support you in that decision, too.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Alan said, as he looked up again. “But what Lizardon thinks _is_ just as important. He’s my partner. If I take the challenge, that means he’s taking it, too.”

Augustine chuckled. “Yes, I know. But at the end of it, _you_ would be the one handling the responsibilities of Champion. Outside of battles, he would be able to spend most of his time sleeping.”

“I could teach him to do paperwork,” Alan said, and Augustine’s smile grew. “I’m sure he could learn to hold a pencil. It would just have to be one of those big ones.”

“That I would like to see,” Augustine said. “But on that note, in case you do decide to take the challenge—or, really, even if you don’t . . . I have something for you.”

Three weeks ago, in an act of defiance as the battle against Lysandre neared its conclusion, Alan had cast off his Mega Ring and pulled the collar from around Lizardon’s neck, throwing it straight into the air so that Lizardon could incinerate it. The collar was ruined from the impact and heat of Lizardon’s flames; it fell back to earth in a half-melted pile of silver, telling Lysandre in no uncertain terms that Alan’s employment was over for good. This, Augustine thought, was likely the reason why Lysandre had gone after Alan the way he had afterward—why, aside from the damage Alan and Lizardon were dealing him and his forces, Lysandre had gone out of his way to target and try to _kill_ Alan, something he nearly succeeded in doing. From what little Alan had told him, it certainly didn’t sound as if Lysandre approved of Alan challenging him directly.

But in casting off the Mega Ring and collar, Alan and Lizardon had similarly cast aside the Key Stone and Charizardite that they used to utilize mega evolution. They had held onto the Key Stone and Charizardite as best they could during the battle—both had gripped their respective stones in tight fists, even as they ducked and wove through the air—but their crash landing knocked the stones from their hands. There had been no time to find them as the battle wrapped up, but when Alan was in stable condition in the hospital (and Lizardon was likewise in the Pokémon Center), Augustine had gone back to the battleground to search. It had taken both him and Gabrielle hours, but after enough searching, they finally located both Key Stone and Charizardite, buried under rubble.

With the stones secured, Augustine had taken them straight to a renowned jeweler in Lumiose. He didn’t know if Alan would still feel comfortable using mega evolution, given his history with it—but if he did, then Augustine knew he and Lizardon would need a better way to carry the stones than in their hands. With that in mind, he had custom necklaces made for the pair of them, both of which were contained in a rectangular white box he slipped from the pocket of his lab coat and slid across the table toward Alan now. Both the Key Stone and Charizardite were fixed to suede cords, but while the Key Stone was set into a silver pendant that resembled a half-moon, the Charizardite was set into a gold pendant that resembled a half-sun. (Augustine had thought about swapping them for the sake of the pun, but he had a feeling that Alan would prefer to wear silver over gold.) Combined with the stones, the pendants matched and fit together to form a whole. Augustine felt it fitting.

Alan had watched him curiously as Augustine produced the box from his pocket, and his expression was just as curious as he lifted the lid and set it to the side. But his eyes widened as he caught sight of the items in the box, his mouth dropping open a little in blank shock.

“These are . . .”

“I had them made after I—well, after Gabrielle and I found the stones at the crash site,” Augustine said. Alan tore his eyes away from the necklaces to look back up at him. “I thought this would be more comfortable for you both. You can decide how to wear them, if you want them—and if you don’t, that’s fine as well. But if you do . . . well.” He smiled. “Consider these two years’ worth of missed birthday presents.”

Alan looked back down at the necklaces in the box. He swallowed before he reached in and picked up the Key Stone pendant, weighing it gently on his fingers without removing it entirely from the velvet it was laying on.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.

“I know,” Augustine said. “But I wanted to. Do you like them? If not, as I said, that’s fine. It’s up to you whether you want to use them or not. I only thought to give you the choice.”

Alan looked swiftly back at him again, his eyes piercing. He held the look for only a moment before he looked back down at the Key Stone and Charizardite and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said softly, and warmth flooded Augustine as Alan smiled— _truly_ smiled, not just a little quirk of his lips but an actual _smile_ —and tied the cord of the Key Stone pendant around his neck. “I love them. Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re more than welcome, Alan,” Augustine said.


End file.
